#ranna writes

[rannadylin]

I'm still very much a Fenris mancer, came across yr fic about varania and him

Beneficium Accipere Libertatem Est Vendere. Soo touching and sweet!

Aw, thank you! That was one of my favorites so I'm delighted that people are still finding and enjoying it!

[sarcasticsciencefictionwriter]

WIP Wednesday

Sneak peek of a possible fic I came up with last night! This scene would be way down the line in it, but I'm too excited not to share it because there's no way I'm getting to the fic itself for a while.

The main pairing in this fic is Helen/James/John/Nikola/Ranna.

(Word count: 1,062)

-- Chapter ? of: Isn't it Lovely? --

Helen felt her lip quiver slightly as she faced Nikola.

He made no move to come closer to her. He stayed feet away from her, hands in the pockets of his coat, staring at her warily, as if she were crazy for being here. As if she shouldn't have been here, when he was the one that shouldn't have been.

"Helen." he repeated her name, shifting.

If he turned away, Helen swore she was beat him to a bloody pulp on the sidewalk. She wanted to. She wanted him to turn away so that she had the excuse. So that she could make him hurt and bleed, to show him a fraction of the pain he had caused.

"How….how are you? How are the others?"

She swallowed, taking a breath and letting it out, trying to contain the rage and the pain that filled her now.

She thought of bloody hands and blanket forts and grief in the dark.

"You left us."

Nikola winced, his expression changing, as if she had greatly hurt him for immediately bringing it up. As if he wished that she hadn't. As if he had expected to get away with what he had done.

"You left us, Nikola."

Her voice shook and Helen wanted to tell herself that it was in anger, but it was in grief. In wanting to demand why. To scream at him and cry and release all the pain that he had added to. He hadn't been the initial cause, but he had doubled it in one night.

"I know."

"You left us!"

Since he wouldn't close the gap, she did, marching closer to him, fists balled in the pockets of her coat, though she wasn't sure if it was to stop them from shaking or to stop herself from hitting him in the face.

"I know what I did."

Nikola's voice was quiet.

"Then why did you do it?"

Nikola's shoulders curved and he looked down.

"Why?"

"I couldn't take it, Helen. I couldn't…I couldn't stand it. I had to go."

"You couldn't stand the people that love you grieving? That's why you left us?"

He flinched and Helen had to swallow a hot ball that had formed in her throat.

"It wasn't you. It was me."

"You selfish bastard."

Nikola didn't respond this, looking weary.

Tears stung Helen's eyes and she forced them back.

"How are they?" Nikola asked quietly.

"Grieving James. Grieving you."

He looked smaller at the last words and Helen felt a sick sort of pleasure at this. She wanted to tear him open, drip poison into the wounds, because there was no way that he had as many as the rest of them.

"We lost you, just after James. Do you know what it's like, Nikola, to wake up the day after the funeral and find another person gone? A bloody note on the kitchen counter? To wake up and lose another person that you love? To have to face that they chose to leave you?"

A tear ran down her face.

Nikola made a strange jerky motion, as if he were going to come closer and stopped himself.

"How are you?" he pressed, as if he were desperate for the information.

"I had to come to New York to track you down, you bastard. How do you think I am?"

Helen clenched her jaw, hardly able to stop herself from screaming the words at him.

"I never hid where I am."

"You never returned any calls either."

"Are you here to ask me to come home?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because they need you."

"Why?"

"You want to know how they are, Nikola?"

Helen stalked closer, even though there was no one else around to hear what she was about to say.

"John has been seeking….revenge for James. He comes home with blood on him. We clean him up and I stitch up any injuries, so no one knows."

Nikola's eyes widened in alarm, in shock.

"He--"

"Yes."

Nikola dragged a hand through his hair, shaking his head in denial. As if he couldn't believe that a man such as John had turned to such a darkness.

Helen no longer remembered if she had been surprised that seemingly gentle, uncertain John had become a killer, but she supposed her reaction had probably been the same.

"And…and Ranna?"

"She's carrying a child that's already lost two fathers. How do you think she is?"

Nikola cringed.

"They need you, Nikola. You may not deserve to come home, you may not deserve them, but they need you."

Her tears ran down her face freely now and Helen hated herself for it.

She was supposed to be the strong one. She was the one that was supposed to be steady, for the others. She was the one that had come to New York to bring Nikola home.

She wasn't supposed to be crying now.

He moved closer now, as if to take her in his arms, but Helen threw up her hand to prevent him from doing so.

Nikola's eyes searched her face, expression pleading.

"What about you, Helen? Do you need me?"

"What I need doesn't matter."

Nikola's eyes scanned her, lingering on her face.

"You're sick, aren't you?"

His voice was so soft it was nearly lost despite their proximity.

Helen swallowed and nodded.

Nikola's expression broke and she saw the fear and the pain.

"Do they know?"

"Yes."

"Do they know how serious it is?"

"No."

"Can you survive?"

"Perhaps."

Nikola grasped her shoulders and stared her in the eyes, terror in his.

"What are you planning, Helen?"

"Protecting my family."

She shrugged him off, seeing the tears in his eyes. That was something she couldn't stand.

"Come home, Nikola. Stop being a coward when people love you."

He kept staring at her and Helen had the impression that she had taken a hammer to the cracked world he had been living in since they had been told of James's death.

She smiled as the rain began in earnest.

Good.

He would have no choice but to come home now.

"Helen--"

Helen turned and began to walk away, ignoring him even as she kept crying.

Her mind was already far away from where they were, back in a blanket fort and warmth and safety, which was more than the man behind her could give her now.

[queen-scribbles]

Bad boy, Jhesen, that’s not the Jedi way😋

[captain-kraken]

it's a very common belief that Pocha has eaten people before and will do again.

this is because there was one time where Pocha lost his temper and bit someone on the arm, who then believed that he was trying to eat them, so they spread the rumour when they returned from De'aba

Pocha heard about the rumour and fully embraced it, to the point where he actively tries to encourage it just for his own amusement

[finely-aged-dragons]

The Herald arrived mere minutes after being notified of the letter arriving from their clan, wide-eyed and out of breath. After collecting herself and neatening her armor, she waved Cullen’s suggestion off and agreed to Leliana's suggestion of sending a gift of needed supplies as a sign of good faith.

“It should be something official, then?" Ranna paused, lips pursed. “Mother's going to hate that... I'll need something to pacify her..." An idea struck her, then. She pulled a carved pendant from beneath her tunic. “We'll send them the ‘official’ letter, and the supplies, but this as well.”

“Your pendant?"

“It's a puzzle box my mother made for me when I was young," Ranna said, smiling. "Only the two of us know how to open it. I'll leave her a note within that I'm alright and I'm staying to help. That should reassure her I'm still alive and not being coerced.”

Ranna allowed Josephine to peer closer at the interlocking wooden pendant. “A remarkable piece, to be sure. Are you sure you want to send it?”

“It's the only way to reassure her,” Ranna said with a sigh. “She's...protective.” Very protective. Ranna was a sickly child until about five years old, and her mother had never really let go of the fear of Falon'Din guiding her child away from her prematurely. “I'll set the note within and bring the pendant to you in a short while,” she said to Leliana, turning away from the table.

[tanoraqui]

The last sons of Fëanor and their forces came to Sirion with blood-hungry blades and the acrid burn of Free Magic, and the ringing of deathly bells. Not a single charter mark was left uncorrupted in that fallen house. Worst of all, they came with a monster of white fire, which leapt ahead of their army with predatory glee.

The Abhorsen was not there to guard his city. He had sailed up the coast seeking aid, seeking refugees, seeking anyone who might be left in the darkening land beyond the wall, which darkened a little more each day as Orannis's strength grew. (Soon, the Ninth Bright Shiner's full power would return, and nothing left in the world would be able to stop him from destroying all that he hated, which was everything.)

He'd left his sword with his wife, the Charter marks still shining bright under the ever-clouded sky. She was the heir of Ranna-that-remained (though that queen remained no more) - so bells might have served her well, but even the Abhorsen's blessed blade didn't suit the power of the gentle Sleeper. She leapt with it into the sea, rather than let the fallen princes steal the heirloom at last.

The entity of white flame picked idly through the ashes and refuse of the refugee city. It was vaguely humanoid, though its limbs twisted and stretched at its whim. It batted a fallen tower-stone around like a cat with a toy. It did the same with a few corpses, but stopped more quickly, and set them to the side.

In a one-room house, it found a woman still alive, leaning heavily on a doused stove with one hand pressed to her bleeding side. It spoke to her in a voice that snapped and cracked like lightning as well as flame: "Go swiftly, child. You won't like what's coming if you stay."

Though clumsy with blood loss, she raised her dagger and tried to stab it. The entity's laugh crackled as it caught her arm. Still laughing. It broke first her wrist, then her shoulder, then, as she gasped in pain, her neck.

"Remember what I said!" it called as she faded helplessly into Death.

A muffled squeak of horror came from a large travel chest shoved against the opposite wall. The entity cocked its head curiously, then prowled across the room with all the confidence of a predator which knew its prey was cornered.

It yanked the chest apart entirely, tearing it in half between two burning white arms and crumbling the pieces. Two boys spilled out, identically dark-haired and fine-featured, about six years old. Only one was awake; the other was limp and bleeding from the temple, a stray blow in the madness of battle. Yet conscious and unconscious alike they clung to one another, and the wakeful child glared up at the monster with all the savage fury of a terrified child.

The being of Free fire recoiled.

"No," it hissed. "No! They had time to breed?"

It was about to sink blazing, dagger-sharp spines into both children where Sareneth rang deep and demanding from outside the little house, and a hoarse but strong voice only a little less accustomed to command called, "Mogget! Stop playing with your food and come face us!"

The entity stopped, attention briefly yanked toward the door. Then with a shiver of light it broke free and reached again for the children with merciless intent.

The bell sang out again, this time joined by Kibeth, and two voices called it out. The entity, which was still known as Mogget, was again caught for a moment - but an even shorter moment this time.

But still it stopped, and cocked its head toward the door.

"Only two, now," it murmured to itself. "Yes..." It smiled, which was a terrible thing to behold on a thing with no real face. "Two, I think I shall manage quite well."

With an almost gentle touch, save for the acrid burn of raw Free Magic, it swooped down and scooped the boys up in its arms, and deposited them unharmed on the very ragged mattress beside the shards of the chest. The wakeful one hugged his brother even tighter, trying to shield him.

The Mogget chuckled, and patted him on the heard.

"Wait here, little pests," it purred - a snapping, crackling purr, but a purr unmistakably. "I'll have you for dessert."

Then it darted out a shattered window.

Shouts greeted it immediately, and more ringing of bells - necromancer's bells, which had never known a Charter mark. Light flashed and cracked like a rainless storm, a rich voice rose to accompany the bells in song, and fire sizzled against cold steel. On the ragged mattress, the wakeful boy first looked around for somewhere else he could drag his brother to hide - for he had no desire whatsoever to be 'desert.' But when Astariel herself joined the chorus of battle, he just just clapped his hands over his ears and buried his face in his brother's blood-stained hair with a sob, and through muffled tears begged him to wake up.

However soft, his cries were loud in the echoing silence that followed the Weeper's ring. The second boy stirred, tears staining his cheeks, too, and murmured, "'lrond?"

The wakeful twin's weeping redoubled. Before he could reply, however, both froze at a terrible shriek from the street outside. The soul-piercing scream came closer without moving and they clutched each other tight. Then it faded into a cate's enraged yowl, merely ear-piercing.

Elrond leapt to his feet, and resumed looking around frantically.

"'Ros, he have to hide," he whispered. "We have to - "

Elros caught sight of their nursemaid on the floor, unmoving with her bloody side and twisted neck. He shoved his fist in his mouth to muffle a cry, and let his brother drag him into the corner beside the potbelly stove - the closest thing to a hiding spot, with escape blocked by voices approaching the single door.

A giant pushed it open, or close enough to a giant - a seven-foot-tall man in heavy armor with vividly copper hair tied back for battle. His armor was singed blood-splattered and his skin pale from the iciness of Death. But he moved unflinchingly and his single mailed hand held a long sword that sparked with red lightning and reeked of Free Magic.

A monster, at any rate - these children knew what Maedhros, Fëanor's eldest son, was said to look like. He was one of their mother's nightmares.

Another followed him - another son, another nightmare. The Dark Singer, Maglor the necromancer, bells all slung across his chest save for the sixth, which he held ready to ring. Ice was still melting off his armor.

At Maglor's heels came a small white cat in a red collar, complaining, " - waste your time, when reinforcements could arrive from Balar in - "

He saw the boys crouching by the cold stove and cursed in a language older than anyone else present could comprehend. It sounded a great deal like hissing.

Maedhros raised one cynical eyebrow. He continued stalking forward with a foreboding frown.

Elrond flinched back. It was Elros's turn to scowl fiercely up at the enemy.

"Nelyo, don't scare them." Maglor elbowed Maedhros aside and crouched in front of the twins. He sheathed Saraneth and displayed his empty hands with a gentle smile.

"Hey there," he said. His was the rich, warm voice. "We're not going to hurt you. Don't mind my brother, he's just grumpy. He's had a rough day. I bet you have too, hmm?"

There was blood on his teeth and lulling power in his hum. On raw instinct, Elros shrieked in jarring disharmony.

Quick as a flash, Maglor drew tinkling Ranna and sang Saraneth in harmony. Already exhausted from grief and fear, both children collapsed bonelessly.

"'Don't scare them,'" Maedhros quoted dryly as the echoes faded. His was the hoarse voice, rough from ancient scars.

"Shut up," Maglor said irritably. Bell still held high, he leaned forward and fished the scowlier child out of the tangle of immature limbs. He ran his fingers carefully along the boy's bloody scalp and pronounced, "Just a cut."

He turned the boy's face toward the dim light from the broken window. "Those are Turgon's eyebrows, right? And his nose, a little?" He added conscientiously, "Also, the silver keys on their tunics."

"Mogget," said Maedhros, looking back - but the cat had disappeared. His jaw tightened.

"He'll be back," said Maglor. "It's us or Eärendil - especially if we have the Abhorsen-in-waiting."

He gathered one twin over each shoulder and stood with a grunt. Their bodies lay limp but warm against his armor. The last bits of ice had melted.

"Much use, any of them," Maedhros said bitterly. "With no bells, no book, not even the bloody sword..."

Already across town from their recurring arguments, the small white cat stalked an engagingly plump rat through some battle-torn turf...and lost it when the bell on his collar suddenly chimed in a strong gust of wind. He sat back and began to wash himself in the universal sign of a cat who meant to do that, no really.

Damn bells! Damn bindings! Damn infant Abhorsens! He couldn't wait for Orannis to finish waking completely and tear them all to shreds!

Though, he could admit, the ninth note on the scale, far beyond petty mortal perception, which permeated matter and mind alike with ever-increasing intensity and goaded destruction as Ranna whispered sleep or Saraneth demanded obedience...and kept the sky so damn cloudy all the time; he hadn't had a really good sunbeam in years... He didn't like that, either. It set his fur on end, even on the pleasant occasions when he wasn't confined to fur.

Old Kingdom au!Fëanor wants to he Abhorsen like his father before him so bad that it makes him look stupid. He wants to be Abhorsen like his father before him so bad that he makes an entirely new set of Charter-infused necromantic bells just to prove that he can wield such powerful, important, approximately sacred tools. He manages this because he is, of course, a Wallmaker, not an Abhorsen. They do become the Abhorsen’s main set henceforth, after the originals are destroyed when Fingolfin tries to 1v1 Orannis.

Hm, actually, the relationship between divinities and people is all but inverted between these two media. I need to think about this some more.

[thecreaturecodex]

Ranna

"Slaadi" © Wizards of the Coast, by Sam Wood

[New Year, New Monsters! I am feeling much less burnt out than I was for the back half of 2023, and have built up a small backlog of new writing. I'm going to keep monsters I post to 2/week for now, to give myself time to go through said backlog in case the burnout rears up again when I'm back to work.

So for my first trick, is a monster NPC I actually wrote back in like September, but didn't post. Consider her an epilogue to the whole "Monster Girl Summer" thing. Ranna is @strawberry-crocodile's character, and fits with some of my other monstrous NPCs. She's Doctor Shiny's main minion, and their relationship serves as sort of a nasty counterpart to Gigi and Priscilla's. Of course, if you just want to use the stat block as a particularly burly slaad enforcer type, that works just as well as Ranna's baroque and macabre backstory.]

Ranna CR 18 CE Aberration This blue, frog-like humanoid has a triangular fanged snout, warty skin and enormous claws growing from the backs of their hands. A red gemstone is embedded in their skull, right between the eyes.

Marina Rhynne was an alchemy student at Endirion School in Absalom, prone to anxiety and to thinking with her stomach. She caught the eye of Doctor Agatha Shiny, who used the pretext of a dinner invitation and offer of a graduate program to abduct her and implant her with an alchemically treated red slaad egg. Doctor Shiny succeeded in one of her goals, which was to cause memories to be passed from the host to the parasite, but failed in that the resultant blue slaad did not maintain the intelligence of her progenitor. The resultant slaad, named Ranna, could recall her previous life in a hazy, dream-like way, but the predominant personality trait that was carried over was hunger.

Ranna is now Doctor Shiny’s Number One Minion, her assassin, procurer and lover. If Doctor Shiny needs someone eliminated or an unusual creature captured and brought to her, Ranna is the one to do it. She usually tracks her targets as an unassuming humanoid until she can set up an ambush and remove her greater hat of disguise. Ranna fights with her natural weapons almost exclusively, although she does occasionally toy with targets by battering them with heavy objects hurled by telekinesis. Although she is lapdog-loyal to Doctor Shiny and always follows her instructions for her specified victims, Ranna enjoys collateral damage, which usually involves biting bystanders. She views any red slaadi that are created through chaos phagethe way a proud parent views their children, and is happy to hear of any death and destruction they create.

Ranna’s personality is playful in a cruel way. She sees her progenitor, Marina Rhinne, as a pathetic figure, and has an air of contempt towards academic pursuits in general. She still appears as Rhynne when abroad in Absalom, and is the terror of Endirion School’s faculty, staff and students as Doctor Shiny’s personal assistant. Ranna is happy to play the bad guy so that Doctor Shiny can maintain her impeccable public reputation, and takes matters into her own claws if anyone gets too close to the truth about Doctor Shiny’s goals and activities. Ranna tends to dispose of the evidence of her murders by eating the corpses of her victims. She is also an excellent chef. Doctor Shiny does not eat food that Ranna prepares unless she is very sure of where the meat came from.

Ranna  CR 18 XP 153,600 Blue slaad slayer 9 (cutthroat) CE Large aberration (chaotic, slaadi) Init +8; Senses darkvision 60 ft., Perception +19

Defense AC 33, touch 20, flat-footed 24 (-1 size, +8 Dex, +1 dodge, +9 natural, +4 armor, +2 deflection) hp 303 (11d8+9d10+200); fast healing 6 Fort +22, Ref +20, Will +15 Immune mind reading, sonic; Resist acid 10, cold 10, electricity 10, fire 10; SR 19

Offense Speed 30 ft. Melee +3 bite +32 (2d6+16 plus disease), 2 +3 claws +32 (2d6+16/19-20x3) Space 10 ft.; Reach 10 ft. Special Attacks augmented critical, opportune target, rend (2 claws, 2d6+22), sneak attack +3d6, stab and grab, studied target (swift or move action, +2) Spell-like Abilities CL 8th, concentration +11 3/day—hold person (DC 15), passwall, telekinesis (DC 18) 1/day—chaos hammer (DC 17)

Statistics Str 36, Dex 26, Con 30, Int 10, Wis 14, Cha 16 Base Atk +17; CMB +31 (+33 bull rush); CMD 52 Feats Alertness,Awesome Blow, Combat Reflexes, Dodge, Improved Bull Rush, Improved Critical (claw), Improved Natural Attack (bite), Intimidating Prowess, Killing Flourish, Power Attack Skills Acrobatics +20 (+24 in urban environments), Bluff +16, Climb +20, Disable Device +25, Disguise +16, Intimidate +34, Linguistics +4, Perception +19 (+23 vs. traps), Profession (chef) +14, Sense Motive +19, Stealth +21, Survival +15 Languages Common, Slaadi SQ legendary, slayer talents (surprise attack, trapfinding [trap sense +3], stalker, street stalker (Acrobatics) Gear manual of gainful exercise +4 (expended), manual of quickness of action +2 (expended), manual of bodily health +4 (expended), belt of physical perfection +4, bloodstained gloves, greater hat of disguise, soulbound eye, amulet of mighty fists +3, bracers of armor +4, boots of teleportation, cloak of resistance +3, ring of mind shielding, ring of protection +2, potion of fly (x2), potion of displacement, potion of haste, potion of lesser restoration (x2), potion of cure light wounds (x4), masterwork cooking tools, 150 gp

Special Abilities Augmented Critical (Ex) A blue slaad’s claws deal x3 damage on a successful critical hit. Disease (Su) Chaos phage; bite—injury; save Fort DC 25; onset 1 minute; frequency 1/day; effect 1d6 Con damage and 1d6 Cha damage; cure 2 consecutive saves. A creature that is reduced to 0 Con or Cha by chaos phage is immediately transformed into a red slaad. This transformation can only be reversed by a miracle or wish. A Small or Medium humanoid with levels in an arcane spellcasting class instead transforms into a green slaad. The save DC is Constitution based. Legendary (Ex) Ranna’s statistics are built with 25 point buy, and she has the equipment of an 18th level PC. These advantages increase her CR by +1. Opportune Target (Ex) If Ranna can act in the surprise round, she can study a foe as a free action and select them as her studied target. Stab and Grab (Ex) As a swift action, Ranna can attempt a steal combat maneuver against a dead or unconscious foe, or against a studied target that she has successfully confirmed a critical hit against. A dead or unconscious opponent takes a -10 penalty against this maneuver. Street Stalker (Ex) Ranna adds ½ her slayer level to Acrobatics checks made in urban environments.

[ms-katonic-of-tamriel]

I have to say I absolutely love how you write Miraak. I absolutely adore the backstory you gave him. Like you made him sympathetic, but that doesn't take away from what he did. I don't have the words to properly articulate how much I love what you've done with him.

Anyway, I was wondering if you had any more thoughts on Miraak's siblings and parents. Like how did his parents, what were they like?

How did Greta meet that Jarl's son?

What were the names of Halbard's wife and kids?

What did they think of Miraak?

Yay! Miraak love! I try. I suspect he's not that true to canon, but I wanted to write someone who was redeemable and capable of learning from his mistakes.

Greta and the Jarl's son! Greta left the village for Windhelm to seek work there - there may or may not have been a boy in her village she was trying to get away from and while Miraak stopped him hassling her, things were still difficult. So she left for Windhelm and got a job as a palace servant. That's where she met the Jarl's son, an affair ensues, Greta gets pregnant and... the Jarl goes ballistic, forbids the wedding and throws Greta out and threatens his son with disownment if he goes after her. Greta goes home in tears to her mother, and predictably Ranna goes to see Miraak insisting he do something. Cue a trip to Windhelm where Miraak wants to know why his sister was not good enough for the Jarl's son and who does he need to feed to Sahrotaar and then the Jarl's son stands up and announces he'll marry Greta even if it means the loss of his birthright, if Miraak has a job for a warrior in his entourage. At this point, the Jarl gives in and says they can get married, at least with a grandchild on the way the succession's safe. Miraak brings his entire family over for the wedding and puts up the dowry and even officiates the ceremony.

Halbard's wife is called Svetla, she's about the same age he is. She grew up in the same village, was Halbard's childhood sweetheart from a young age, watched Miraak grow up as well and while she didn't expect her boyfriend's bratty younger brother to grow up into the leader of the Sonaak, she wasn't surprised either. Young Miraak might have been arrogant as hell but he was also magically gifted and clearly very bright. She was always quite fond of Miraak - as an adult, he was always friendly towards her and spoiled the kids rotten. Despite marrying in their late teens, Svetla and Halbard had issues having children - stillbirths and infant mortality taking every single one. Until Miraak became the lead priest at the Temple and suddenly a once neglected village gets a lot of attention and investment, with a proper healer assigned. Miraak personally ensured that no matter how hard the winter, his kin were taken care of and that village didn't suffer, and the resulting nutrition gains alone meant Svetla and Halbard's kids born after that survived. Svetla and Halbard knew who to thank for that - they'd been married eight years, no surviving kids, Svetla's mental health was in pieces, and then suddenly Miraak's the lead Sonaak, their village is prospering overnight, and Svetla's next kid lives as do the next two? Halbard forgives his brother everything and Svetla thinks Miraak is akin to the Divines for this. The three kids were Annalies, Ranmir and Saara, and they adored their Sonaak uncle. Saara would also have turned out a mage and quite possibly Dragonborn, and had things gone better, likely ended up adopted by Miraak once her magic kicked in. Alas she never lived that long. :(

Ranna and Harknir? I never went too much into their backstories before they had Miraak, but Ranna was a very beautiful young woman (Miraak absolutely got his looks off her), Harknir was besotted with her and personally hunted down three bears to present the pelts to her family when he asked for her hand. Ranna admired the furs greatly and immediately said yes. Not the most romantic of pairings but they were Atmorans of Solstheim and they weren't rich, so it didn't need to be. They had three surviving children, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary... but their second son seemed unusually precocious and once his personality emerged, it became very apparent that he was not only very bright, he absolutely knew it. Harknir never really had a clue what to do with him, and tbh would have preferred a girl, or a at least a proper man's man as opposed to this vain smartmouthed kid, but he tried his best. When Miraak did end up shooting up the Dragon Cult ranks, Harknir could content himself with thinking at least the vanity was justified. Ranna of course adored Miraak from the start, he was a very cute and charming baby and never failed to entertain her. Harknir was never terribly charismatic but Miraak absolutely was, and promptly got doted on non-stop by his mother. It's possible this contributed to tensions between father and son.

Anyway! Miraak's birth family, insofar as I've plotted it out. Nothing so terribly weird or unusual, they just had the dubious fortune of a Dragonborn son being born to them.

Thanks for the ask!

[mihstar]

This or That - Tag Game

Thanks for tagging me, @elliespuns

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Bonus tlou questions by @elliespuns

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No pressure tags: @verybigvag @22thumbs @ranna-alga

[unfair-water-plane]

Remains of the Night!!!!

(A snippet from a piece I was writing set in the Old Kingdom from Garth Nyx’s ‘Abhorson’ series. It’s my oldest WIP, started in 2004 when I first read Sabriel. My writing has changed so much, so be patient with Highschool UWP)

There were rumors, even in the city.

Oh, everyone knew the stories. There were monsters in the woods, dangers in the shadows. The peasants who lived in the wastes would not venture out of their shacks after dusk, and traders who traveled the roads swore men made of mist and women made of moonlight stalked the darkling hours between dusk and dawn. But the educated rich only scoffed at that, chuckling at the folly of lesser people. Wolves took those who wandered at night, it was well known, and shadows played tricks on tired minds. That was all it was, and everyone knew it.

But still...there were rumors. And rumors held truth, if you looked deep enough. Smoke could not coil into the air without fire to breed it. And whether the noble and merchant classes had wanted to see the truth or not, things were still happening in the wastes and in the borderlands. Things that could not be explained, things that would not be rationalized out of existance. But the kings and nobles did not care to dwell on it, and there was no profit to be made for merchants to investigate.

And so it fell on those who did not hold a sceptical light to the darker things of the world.

The first time Ruben had seen a shade he had been seven, and had ventured too far towards the border of his father’s plantation. But he’d been a curious child, and had chased locusts and frogs through the fields of late summer wheat to the copse of trees around the farm brook. The creaking of taut rope had drawn his attention upward, and he’d seen the hanged men. Thieves hung for crimes, almost a century before. But their ghosts lingered, and he had the power to see them.

His father had followed terrified screamings to the child, but by the time he arrived Ruben had gone still and silent. Only his eyes showed any sign of life, wide and terrified and unblinking. He had lain like that for two days when a necromancer had stopped by the large estate, hoping for shelter in exchange for work. It had been he who had explained the meaning of Ruben’s condition, and he who had loaded the child on the front of a horse and taken him north.

Ten years of training- on the art of music, sword play and the dead- had led to his final induction into the life. A sacrifice was required, but he’d gladly paid it, and had been gifted with the cloak and gear of his order. At his waist was a sword, forged with steel and silver and iron, to fight any enemy he might cross. And across his breast were the seven bells of his practice, from the tinny Ranna to the ever silent Astarael. All he used to bind the dead, ridding all he came across of ghosts and ghasts and those creatures of the night he could tame or destroy.

And he had heard the rumors. The necromancers had not forgotten the old histories the wars with the fae and the walls that had saved them. Scholars in their own right they hoarded knowledge, and sought it where ever possible. And he had sought it in the wastes, near the borderlands.

The forests held little fear for him before, but as he had worked his way farther and farther from the cities the dangerous became more real. Towards night he had made it his habit to dismount, leading the black stallion through the thick undergrowth to find campsites. Tamilal was a necromancer’s horse, and balked at nothing, but he seemed to appreciate the concern.

[ranna-alga]

♡ Hi there ♡

My name is Ranna (she/her) and this is my very first Tumblr blog! I mostly reblog, post some art, and the occasional meta piece here or there. This blog is mostly fandom-based.

My current special interests are Red Dead Redemption 2, The Last of Us (Pt. I), and Good Omens. But I also enjoy other media such as Lord of the Rings, Brooklyn Nine-Nine + The Office, Bojack Horseman, Arcane, Breaking Bad/BCS, and more!

I am an aromantic asexual, 18-year-old POC artist and I post art with the occasional blog post about whatever I'm interested in.

These are my other socials where you can find me:

MY INSTAGRAM = ranna_draws._ (I am more active on there)

MY CARA = ranna-alga

MY AO3 = saltyaga (currently writing an interprative ongoing Marthur series on how they met! Check it out <3)

A number of my posts will fall under certain tags, such as:

#ranna word dumping -> Meta posts, lengthy reblogs, random thoughts

#ranna art posting -> Posting my art

Thank you for supporting me <3

[rannadylin]

I have a tag from @polutrope for this, and since it's summer break I'm going to not forget to respond for once :-D

So, wanted to get some hiatus rec lists going and encourage some self promo in my friends so how about sharing your top fics no matter how big or small - give us the links to your wonderful words with the Most hits/Most kudos/Most comments/Most bookmarks/Most words/Least words.

And oh goodness, it's been a while since I posted any fic so let's see what comes up!

Most hits: Warriors Such As. Not surprising! (It's a DA2 fic with my Hawke/Fenris and is the last of a series with them, the previous three in the series being much shorter than this one.)

Most kudos: Wool Tinkering. Also not surprising, for who doesn't like fewer than 600 words of Perc'ahlia fluff about knitting? :-D This one still reliably gets kudos e-mails after all these years...

Most comment threads: Soul and Shield. I regret to inform you that this is a work in progress which I last updated in...yikes, 2019? It also is part of a series, this one about my Watcher Violet from Pillars of Eternity (or at least, it's the sequel to Clan and Court, which is happily finished because it was way less ambitious, and which probably should be read first for S&S to make sense?) I do still have my notes for this fic but I don't know if I will manage to finish writing it at this point. I started writing it before Deadfire and...Deadfire did not do much to inspire its continuation, I guess.

Most bookmarks: Beneficium Accipere Libertatem Est Vendere. My Fenris & Varania fic! The bookmarkers have excellent taste, this is one of my own favorites.

Most words: Co-written, there's Prepare For The Dawn at 137K thus far, which is adapted from the Pillars of Eternity ttrpg campaign GMed by @grumpy-jedi and played by @starlightcleric, @dragonologist-phd, @serenbach86, and me. Of my solo fics, it's Soul and Shield...unfinished, yet still the most words at 95K.

Fewest words: Cards and Choices, my first Critical Role fic, 228 words inspired by the moment in game that sold me on Perc'ahlia!

Bonus: Since this tag game emerged from the Tolkien/Silmarillion fandom and my actual Silm fics are not statistical stand-outs up against Critical Role and Dragon Age, honorable mention to Fall of the Hammer about Rog from the Fall of Gondolin, and In the Mirror, also about Gondolin and the only fic I've written about any of my LOTRO characters (hm, wait, that's not true, I had backstory for Linett on the old my.lotro blogs aaaaaages ago when I was still on the Nimrodel server...I should track that down and put it up on AO3 I suppose).

I shall tag (if you want to!) @serenbach86, @dragonologist-phd, @starlightcleric, @queen-scribbles, @risualto, @haledamage, @loquaciousquark and @jadesabre301.

[sarcasticsciencefictionwriter]

Qeustions for fic writers! 7, 11, 16, 23 and 49 : )

Hi! Thanks so much for the ask!

7. Any worldbuilding you’re particularly proud of?

The worldbuilding for my unpublished Ranna long fic I'm quite proud of, because I had to build a lot on to what little we see in canon. I have what I've built so far in this post here. I really delve into how the systems work in Praxis and how they are flawed. (sorry for not just putting it in this post, but it is long)

In published works, I want to say Enigmatic Confections, because I had to build it up to be believable to the story, not just be completely out of character for everyone. I like how I have it, particularly how the relationships between the characters are.

I really, really like how I built Helen and Nikola's rivalry and how Helen's loved ones are involved in it to some degree.

11. Are you partial to a certain character/pairing or are you more equal-opportunity? If you are partial to any character/pairing, why do you think that is?

I'm a Magnitt girl that was converted to Teslen and read a ton of Helen/Will before I started writing fanfic, I am mostly equal-opportunity on the pairing front. Everyone is so shippable and most of the ships are so interesting.

I do favor Helen as a viewpoint character, because I like her complexities and intricacies, and I find her voice easier to write than others (say, Nikola or John). She also my favorite character.

16. What’s an AU you would love to read (or have read and loved)?

Hmmmm. I have no clue, I don't usually go looking for AUs, I just skim the archive and pick what looks interesting and if I want something, I usually write it. 😅

But an AU I would love to read.... Pavor universe but Helen and John survive and are going to have a baby. 🙈 (I might write this now)

23. What’s a trope, AU, or concept you’ve never written, but would like to?

Soulmates is pretty interesting. There are so many ways to spin it, platonic, polyamory, horror, combination thereof. It has a lot of possibilities, especially in the Sanctuary fandom where immortals and abnormals are the norm!

Hanahaki done properly is another, where the disease is caused by the repressed emotions not by thinking you're unloved, but I already have plans for that!

49. What are you currently working on? Share a few lines if you’re up for it!

I'll give a tidbit of a self-indulgent Ranna fic that is proving to be trickier than anticipated.

Ranna picked up the knife that she had sharpened and cleaned and stared at it for a few moments as the blade glinted in the light, thinking of what she was about to do, thinking of what it meant. It wouldn't be in the same spot all the other bondeds had dripped their blood, so many of them having done so the stone was permanently discolored from it. But she could give it to her home, as she meant to. She walked out on to the street, where it was mostly empty and cut across her palm, the pain flashing hot and deep through her body, some part of her almost wanting to flinch at her action, but she held her hand up, let her blood drip on to the stones, silently making a vow, wondering if any of the people who had come before had made one. The blood splattered on the stone of the street and shone in the light. Someone would come along and see it and wonder, but it eased something in her heart to see her blood on the ground of her home, where it was supposed to be as she was about to give herself to it completely.

[scarletpearlsstuff]

I leave, but then…

I’m a leaver, I leave everything midway. Tea, driving classes, crash courses, jobs, story books, movies, relationships, and to-do lists. But over the past year I’ve realised, there is one thing I complete. I go from A to Z.

My mother and grandmothers from both the sides had their own fable of cooking. Right from bati chocchori a femine taught dish to Thakur dalan er ranna, I got to taste devouring Bengali dishes all my life.

Cooking has attracted my attention since childhood, before I realised I was foodie. I sat by these ladies, kept looking at their hands doing the magic. There were no spoons to measure, no recipe book they would look into, and of course YouTube was an aline. It was just intuitions, love and kindness to serve a patriarchal family.

By the rule book the men always ate first, followed by the children. Women? You know. I got my sheer taste of spending my days in join families. So it was the cousins, irrespective of gender who sat together for the meals. The only thing that made gender biasness in that cousins’ table was- the boys were served the larger pice of mach, an extra Chingri mach, two extra paneers and a bit more care.

All the fun that I’ve had in the kitchen faded with that extra for the boys. I wanted to have some more food. Only to realise in my teens, it was not the food, it was biasness that made me sad and jealous.

I vouched I’ll not enter the kitchen, will serve big pieces to the girls, and will fight for my chingri Mach. This worried the men and women of the house without a pinch of gender-role to meddle.

Made my way to college, got away from home and just when I thought I’ll be free, adulting started knocking. Apart from many a things I had to do during my mess days, cooking was the far more irritating and important thing. Numerous failed attempts of making a perfect roti to fry the fish perfectly, I realised cooking was rather a life skill and an art.

With all the love and loathsome cooking I did, hiring a cook later and Swiggy-Zomato later that I’ve managed to fill my tummy.

But deep down, I missed the taste of childhood. Ma’s cooking and seeing the whole gala of the kitchen. I decided, I’m gonna cook myself now onwards. With day in and day out, I discovered a fact about myself. The leaver is not a leaver when it comes to cooking.

Right from the deciding the menu, chopping the veggies, washing the mach mangsho and more, measuring the masalas, calling ma for guidance and indulging in YouTube cook channels, and dishing the food, I completed tasks.

This whole hullabaloo of the kitchen is therapeutic for me (exceptions be considered).

Am I a good cook?

Yet to reach there.

Will I keep cooking?

No.

Do I enjoy it?

Thoroughly.

With a lot being said and shared, I’m ending this blog with a quote,

“Cooking is like painting or writing a song. Just as there are only so many notes or colors, there are only so many flavors—it’s how you combine them that sets you apart.”
– Wolfgang Puck

[captain-kraken]

OC Deep Dive Tag

Thank you @the-inkwell-variable for tagging me over here!

I'll answer these for Pocha Ranna <3

What common/uncommon fear do they have?

Pocha is afraid of Gishars.

Do they have any pet peeves?

He HATES it when people lie to him. He doesn't care how bad the truth is, he much prefers that over being lied to.

What are 3 items you can find in their bedroom?

Various bones, hammock, snakes.

What do they notice first in a person?

Whether or not they're a gishar.

On a scale from 1-10 how high is their pain tolerance?

About an 8. He's experienced a LOT of pain so it takes a lot these days to really affect him.

Do they go into fight or flight mode when under pressure?

Definitely fight.

Do they come from a big family/are they a family person?

He comes from a very large family, though it's kind of complicated. The only family he has now is Veila and the two of them are very close. Partly because they're twins, partly because they're the only company they both have for the most part.

What animal represents them best?

A snake lol. His Laeka has corrupted his physical appearance to be more snake-like, probably because he's always loved them so much.

What is a smell they dislike?

Smoke.

Have they broken any bones?

Yes. He has no self preservation lol. He broke his leg once by falling out of a tree, both wrists on separate occasions, and two of his fingers by punching someone in the face too hard. He also broke one of his teeth by trying to angrily bite the shell of a bone-thief crab.

How would a stranger likely describe them?

Creepy. That's what most people call him.

Are they a night owl, or morning bird?

Night owl. He likes the cover of darkness, he can hunt a lot better.

What’s a flavor they hate and a flavor they love?

He hates the flavour of coffee. But he LOVES fish.

Do they have any hobbies?

He enjoys climbing trees, bug-watching, hunting, swimming, and adventuring.

Boom, surprise birthday party! How do they react to surprise?

Well, the only person that would be there is Veila so it wouldn't be much of a surprise lol. In general though, he likes surprises. Because of his power he knows too much about the past, so he likes being able to fantasise about the future.

Do they like to wear jewellery?

Yes. He has necklaces made of teeth, wooden beads in his hair, a woven bracelet that Veila made for him, and ear gauges. But his favourite is his emerald anklet, which is his most prized possession.

Do they have neat or messy handwriting?

Pocha can't read or write.

What are the two emotions they feel the most?

Longing and joy.

Do they have a favourite fabric?

He actually hates most fabrics and can't stand the feeling of them on his skin, so he usually only has on the bare minimum.

What kind of accent do they have?

Pocha has an unusual accent as it has a Bahavian base but some of his words dip into other accents.

No pressure tag for @writernopal @noblebs @bardicbeetle @bardic-tales & open tag!

Blank questions under cut:

What common/uncommon fear do they have?

Do they have any pet peeves?

What are 3 items you can find in their bedroom?

What do they notice first in a person?

On a scale from 1-10, how high is their pain tolerance?

Do they go into fight or flight mode when under pressure?

Do they come from a big family/are they a family person?

What animal represents them best?

What is a smell they dislike?

Have they broken any bones?

How would a stranger likely describe them?

Are they a night owl, or morning bird?

What’s a flavor they hate and a flavor they love?

Do they have any hobbies?

Boom, surprise birthday party! How do they react to surprise?

Do they like to wear jewellery?

Do they have neat or messy handwriting?

What are the two emotions they feel the most?

Do they have a favourite fabric?

What kind of accent do they have?

[4uru-draws]

Tried to practice my bangla handwriting outside of making notes for tomorrow's exam by writing bangla song lyrics.😅

(My dad says it looks like an "moheerner ghoraguli' band album)